Page 11 of The Legend Next Door
“No, I don’t think so either.”
“How do you know? Did he say?”
When I think about it and try to put it into words Luca will understand, it’s hard to explain. There’s nothing specific about how Jeremiah dresses or acts or what he said that gave me the impression he’s gay. It’s just a feeling. A knowing. An unquantifiable lightness to him. A kindness. A gentleness that told me.
“’Cause I think Jelly would rather have a boyfriend or husband,” I say.
“Oh, like Jonah’s dads.”
That’s one of the things I love about kids. They’re born without judgment or hate. Luca learned Jonah has two dads at a birthday party last year. Luca suggested they get some more candy, and Jonah said, “I can’t have more because one of my dads says too much candy gives me the zoomies.”
Despite not having met a kid with two dads before, Luca didn’t bat an eye. He simply said, “Which one of your dads says that?”
“The one with red hair,” Jonah said sadly.
“’Kay, let’s go and ask your dad with brown hair then.”
The very thing I love about kids is the thing that makes me angry about adults. Discrimination is taught, not born. The fact is that at some point in lots of kids’ lives, an adult asshole takes it upon themselves to pull them aside and carefully and deliberately instructs them to hate people because of who they’re attracted to.
Assholes.
Luca hops off the stool and heads to the sink to wash his hands.
“All done?” I check.
“Mm, yeah. Thanks, Daddy, that was good. How long is it until Amy picks me up?”
I glance at my wrist. “Still a good seven hours, sweetie.”
“Ugh. And how long do you think until Jelly comes over?”
And that’s the problem with time machines that spit you out at breakfast—once breakfast is done, you’ve still got the rest of the day and, conservatively, three million questions to contend with.
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see, but don’t forget, Jelly has lots of other things to do. He has his pottery, and his photography, and a massage business, and—”
“—His yoga. That’s when you stretch, Dad. Like this. And make yourself into a pretzel. See? Look, I can do it.”
I stand to the side and watch, nodding now and again, as Luca performs a yoga practice I don’t believe many yogis would be familiar with. His demonstration lacks grace but not enthusiasm.
I toy with the idea of finding a kid’s yoga class on YouTube for him to do. It might distract him because I know I’m right. It’s unlikely Jeremiah will come back so soon. He was here yesterday, and yeah, he said he’d be back, but he was probably only trying to be polite after the ass I made of myself when I gave him his thoughtful gift back.
I feel a little warm when I think about it. I’m not generally someone who embarrasses easily, but man, I hate when there’s an obvious expectation of how I’m supposed to behave, and I do the exact opposite.
Oof.It’s the worst.
As soon as the warmth passes, it’s replaced with something flat. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I know the man. He’s practically a perfect stranger with his own full and rewarding life to live. It’s neither here nor there whether he comes over again today or not.
An hour or so later, there’s a barrage of little footsteps from my room, followed by a joyful cry that causes Luca’s voice to lilt up by an octave, at least. He makes no effort whatsoever to hide it. “Jelly’s on his way!”
“Slow down, buddy, that’s too fast down the stairs.”
9
Jeremiah Blake
Lucacomesflyingoutof the house and down the path toward me. His face is cracked open in such a big smile, all I can see is teeth.
He’s an abnormally cute child. All kids are cute, well, most of them are, but Luca is something else. He’s one of those kids it’s impossible to be around without having a good time. He talks so much and has so many ideas, and my God, his enthusiasm knows no bounds. Despite what he’s been through, his default setting is happy. You can tell within minutes of meeting him that he thinks the world is a beautiful place and is pleased to be here.
